


Like It Was Meant to Be

by McMhuirich



Category: NCIS
Genre: Case File, F/M, Hazard @ sea, NCIS afloat, SAR, Ships and boats, h/c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McMhuirich/pseuds/McMhuirich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team investigates the disappearance of a girl and a young midshipman. One agent is having a hard time. Some McGiva. NCIS afloat fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy.  
> This was my first Work In Progress and without making use of a Beta! My apologies in advance for all the mistakes you'll find.   
> Please, do leave some feedback: I'd like to improve my writing/English and your advice would be much appreciated.
> 
> I have absolutely no medical knowledge and any medical related errors, imperfections, faults, mistakes or inaccuracies...whatever...in the procedures I described, remain my own.

**LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE**

 

 

Dawn felt comfortably cool by the time Tim finally stepped out of the NCIS building.

After another full nighter – the third in a row – he was dead on his feet and yearned for his cosy bed. Sure he could stay over at the dockyard, but the lack of spare clothes forced the team to go home for some well deserved rest and freshening up.

Tim and Ziva were practically neighbors and so they shared a cab home. Reclining in the backseat, McGee was in danger of falling asleep. An occasional glance aside told him Ziva was also trying hard to stay awake during the 20 minute ride. After first having dropped Ziva at her place, he eventually arrived at his own and found it extremely problematic to unfold his lanky legs out of the taxi and make them move across the pavement after having paid the fare.

Leaning his head wearily against the main entrance door and yawning mightily, it took him ages to insert the key and let himself in. He couldn't remember having mounted the stairs to find himself standing in front of his apartment. There followed another session of fumbling to get inside – he'd even dropped the key in all his clumsiness.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he was a little nonplussed that Jethro didn't bounce up to him and sweep him off his legs. It took Tim a couple of minutes before it dawned on him he'd left his canine friend at the kennel because of the irregular hours of this week.

It felt suffocatingly hot inside. He'd forgotten to drop the blinds against the sultry midsummer heat.

En route to his bathroom, he unbuttoned his clingy, sweat stained shirt. Next followed shoes, socks, pants... After finishing his business in the bathroom, it didn't take long to scoot under the sheets and succumb to sleep - ' _Calm as a child in dreamless slumber_ ' – and soon Tim's breathing became steady as he fell asleep amidst the sounds of the awakening city..

" _Ding_ "

The elevator doors slid open and out stepped Special Agent Timothy McGee. Even though he'd slept the sleep of the dead for a few hours, he didn't feel that much rested. He trudged to his desk, noticing from the corner of his eye one very fresh and rakish looking Tony DiNozzo about to collide with him, grinning widely and brandishing an envelope.

"Look, Tony." He sighed wearily, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder into the corner of his workspace, before turning to look at his friend. "I don't want any of your jokes right now, 'kay?"

Tony stepped back with a mock-apologetic face. "Wow, Probie! Now you hurt me! Aren't you interested in what I have here?" But then he dropped the mask and turned serious when he noticed his friend wasn't really paying him attention.

Tim dropped heavily on his desk chair, switched on his computers and started shuffling through the papers that littered his desk.

Tony placed the envelope on Tim's desk, while surreptitiously scanning his friend's face, and didn't like what he observed. Granted, they had _all_ been pushed to the edge on this last case, but a good night's sleep usually worked wonders and at least _he_ felt refreshed and ready to tackle almost anything.  
McGee, though, was another question. He looked even worse than he did last night. Tony was dismayed at the state his normally fastidious friend was in. He noted the pale and drawn face, the baggy and hooded eyes that now were rather dull and had lost their usual sparkle, the compressed mouth, the razor nicks on his chin… He'd even missed some spots.  
But then, Tony - and about everybody else here in the bullpen - knew how hard Gibbs was driving this agent.

As McGee made no move to read the letter, Tony picked it up and sliced it open. Unfolding the letter, he rather felt than saw McGee's eyes on him.

"Why are you opening my mail?"

Tony deliberately ignored the petulance in Tim's voice. "You never even looked at it, McGoo! Aren't you interested?" He looked up to meet his friends squinting eyes.

Tony practically waved the letter under McGee's nose, hoping for some positive reaction. Disappointingly, he got none.

McGee just dug his handkerchief from his pants and wiped his sweaty brow and continued the sweep over his neck. Even this early in the day, his white shirt showed dark patches of sweat and his movements were getting more sluggish by the minute.  
Tony sighed and after a quick scan of the letter, he regarded his friend with a frown.

"You should read it, Tim. It's an invitation for one Timothy McGee to deliver a lecture on... ah... let me see..." He skimmed the lines and continued: " _Law Enforcement and Computer Crime Prevention: The Latest Break-Through._ ".

Tony looked up from the letter. "I'd 've thought you'd jump at the chance!"

He shrugged, folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.  
"At MIT no less," he finished with a wink. There was no way Tim wouldn't rise to this bait!

The change was dramatic. One moment, lassitude weighed down on McGee. The next, he jumped from his chair in sheer nervous energy and couldn't snatch the letter from Tony's hands fast enough. He pulled it out of the envelope again and started reading, his head and lips moving as he mouthed what his eyes were taking in. First his expressive face displayed disbelief but it was soon to be followed by elation at such good news.

He whooped and pivoted once, a wide smile virtually cutting his face in half.

Then, with a sobering sigh, he eyed Tony, leaned in, and - to Tony's astonishment, and everyone else's present in the squad room - he kissed his co-worker and gave a fist-pump mouthing "Yes!" before becoming his subdued self once more.

He fell back in his chair, breathing heavily. Out came the hanky again, for now he was perspiring, not only from the heat, but also from the rare and short outburst.

When he had his breathing under control again, he looked around and promptly turned crimson when he noticed all eyes fixed on him. He hunched his shoulders and quickly turned his attention to his computer to work on his report of the latest case.

Well, he tried to.

His thoughts kept wandering.

"Sweet." He softly whispered, all smiles.

This was indeed a great honor – to give a lecture at one of the most prestigious institutions in the US. At that thought, the smile slowly disappeared to be replaced by a look of trepidation.

He considered the various practicalities now that it was a certainty. He had a lot to say on the subject, but the sheer notion of hosting such a public oratory scared him, to be honest.

Oh but he had talked in public before: expressing his thanks and adding credits to those who had helped him with his novels, if that counted. Or, the inevitable small talk at the signings at some local bookshop or at some posh banquet or other to which he was invited under his nom-de-plume, Thom E. Gemcity.

But lecturing a group of interested MIT know-it-alls?

His face promptly turned beetroot once more and he tried to hide his long frame behind his computer screen.

Tony gave his Probie one last worried look before strolling back to his own desk.

The peace and quite was barely restored to the room, when Gibbs energetically ran down the Mezzanine stairs and, en passant to the elevator, retrieved his Sig and badge from his desk and tossed a file on Tony's desk.

"Gear up! DiNozzo, David: interview, Waverly Campus. Get us something useful to work on. McGee with me!" Gibbs snapped as he turned around at the elevator and waited for Tim. The quizzical look on his face made Tim blush even more.

They stepped into the lift and Gibbs stared McGee down, who was now wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, his green eyes vacantly looking through Gibbs. A rare occurrence. Usually a patented Gibbs-stare would make him cringe.

"Well? What was that about?"

"Uh...I...mmm...I'yuh..."

_Twack_!

"MIT's asked me to read a lecture. This is...this is...well...I...eh…" He inwardly groaned as he slowly turned his face away. Oh dear! Now he's acting like a complete bumbling fool!

Amazing how this always seemed to work. Just like an on/off switch. Gibbs had to restrain himself from laughing and kept his face inscrutable. It wouldn't do to let the young man witness his amusement.

They both waited in silence – Tim keeping his eyes locked on the floor and Gibbs observing him with an amused smile on his face - until the lift dinged and the doors slid open. As they both stepped out, Gibbs slapped McGee on the shoulder: "Good for you, McGee!"

Tim sighed with relief, all fatigue gone, a beam plastered on his expressive face.

In the sedan, silence reigned. Gibbs' mind was on the case at hand and McGee... Yeah, well, he was again feeling rather miserable and sweating profusely due to the oppressive heat. Too bad the airco had broken down. Why now, when there's a freaking heat wave in DC? Gibbs' driving wasn't exactly improving things either and McGee's stomach was getting more rebellious.

"No puking in the car, ya hear, McGee?"

"-"

"McGee?"

"...mpfff...b-b-boss..." Tim slumped in his seat, his head leaning against the window. He groaned, his eyes were tightly shut and his face had turned a sickly shade of green.

Gibbs sighed. His youngest agent could be such a trouble child with that delicate stomach of his! If he wasn't careful, he'd grow ulcers before soon.

Gibbs, ignoring the angry honks, weaved through the lanes and quickly pulled up on the hard shoulder. He twisted his body to rummage behind his seat for a bottle of water while Tim shakily opened the door and stumbled out, just in time to throw up.

Tim just sat there on his knees, panting and feeling rather light-headed with shivers running down his spine. He felt a cool cloth in his neck and a supporting hand between his shoulder blades. Gibbs leaned in front of him and looked him in the eyes as he offered the rest of the bottle.

"Drink," he ordered, still assessing his agent. Tim obliged and after a couple of swigs, he returned the bottle, passing the back of his hand over his mouth.

Gibbs took the bottle from the trembling fingers and poured some water on the cloth again before pushing it into Tim's hand to wipe his face.

"Better?"

"Yeah, ... it-it's this infernal heat, boss."

"I know. Now get back in the car. We've got a missing girl and there's no time to waste."

He waited till McGee was back in the car before pushing the bottle in Tim's trembling hands


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim had sufficiently recuperated by the time they reached the house of the missing girl's family.

On the way, and in spite of his nausea, McGee had made good use of the 2 hours' drive to study the file. It summed up to 18 year old Lorraine gone missing: daughter of one Lt Daring, last seen at the Waverly Campus stepping onto the bus heading home for the weekend. Needless to say the girl never reached her destination.

It was a tearful Mrs Daring who let both agents in.

When they were settled with a cup of coffee – tea for McGee, since he knew the coffee would do no good to his upset stomach – Lt and Mrs Daring gave their version of the facts which corroborated with the reports the local LEO's had given NCIS.

Both Gibbs and McGee threw in extra questions to fill in some of the blanks. Every little detail, trivial though it might seem during the first stages, could well become important clues as the investigation progressed. The two expert agents would leave nothing to chance.

Halfway through the Darings' narrative, Tim became restless once more.

Taking notes seemed more and more an impossible task to accomplish as little bright spots invaded his notebook.

" _C'mon, McGee – focus!_ "

He squeezed his hurting eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, then moved his hand to rub at his temple.

Lt Daring stopped briefly when he noticed the younger agent was not longer paying attention or scribbling and turned to him with some concern.

"Agent McGee? Are you feeling all right?" He asked with a questioning look at Gibbs who had half risen from his seat.

"I'm fine, Sir. J-just… I'll be fine, Sir. C-could you please tell me where the bathroom is?" He got up and swayed slightly as some tingling sensation manifested itself in his legs, and followed Ltd Daring out of the sitting room.

"In here, Agent McGee."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"A glass of water… would be nice. Thanks."

Lt Daring left him and he turned on the tap, bent over the sink and splashed cool water over his face and neck. _Much better… at least, for now._ He straightened himself again and stared at his gaunt reflection. That was still a bit of a shock. He groaned as he towelled his face dry. After that, he just remained standing there, chin on his chest, resting his hands on the washstand and closing his eyes, trying hard to calm down.

He simply couldn't figure out what it was. Why was he feeling like this. Was it something he ate? Hardly. He'd barely eaten anything. He'd felt no need to eat. It had never occurred to him that taking nourishment was no excessive luxury but a bodily need. He'd also run out of granola bars and had forgotten to replenish the stock in his drawer. Coffee. Yeah gallons of the black stuff… he'd drunk plenty of that alright.

Tim looked up again and squinted. Damn, that lighting fixture was way too bright! It literally sent stabs of pain through his brain. He quickly switched it off and left the bathroom.

Before entering the living room, he took a quick breath and squared his shoulders.

Mrs Daring passed him a glass of water which he gratefully accepted. He sat down next to Gibbs who raised an enquiring eyebrow. Gibbs never was one to waste words if his face could do an equally good job to convey his thoughts, his will. McGee had become quite adept in translating those expressions in the 7 years he'd been on Gibbs' team.

"I'm good." He nodded. " _More or less,_ " he added to himself.

A glimpse at his notebook, which was now in Gibbs' hands, gave away that the interview had been continued in his absence. A relief, for he didn't know if his failing eyesight would be up to any more writing.

Gibbs finished his second cup of coffee and stood up from the comfortable couch with a meaningful glance towards McGee who slowly rose to his feet.

"May we bother you, Mrs Daring, to take a look at Lorraine's room?" Tim softly asked so as not to upset the distraught parents more than needed. Also, he found that sound irritated his senses.

Mrs Daring gave a shaky nod and a flighty smile.

"Sure…. First room on your right when you're upstairs."

Gibbs and McGee made their way up to the girl's bedroom.

As they both took in the room, they found surprisingly little girly stuff. Lorraine certainly didn't favor pink. That much was obvious. But then, Tim thought, neither did his sister Sarah. There were no stuffed animals. The room was mainly red with dark furniture, and black, white and red floor length curtains. Few posters adorned the walls. Her desk was a mess and when they opened the wardrobe, various articles tumbled out. Gibbs quickly closed the door and turned on his heels to scan the room.

"The Darings were positive there was nothing out of the ordinary in their daughter's room. Nothing at all to indicate she'd planned to leave, apart from the usual stuff she took with her to DC and all that had been found still at the dorm by the LEO's."

Gibbs sighed. He'd never get used to it. The past would always catch up with him. This could have been Kelly's room. He shook his head. Don't go there, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"McGee: if you're finished daydreaming, I'd suggest you take some pics of this room. Might help with the profile."

Tim blinked and readied his camera.

On the nightstand, there was a small frame with a picture of a smiling young man in naval uniform having his arms wrapped around Lorraine's shoulders.

"She sure has the hots for this guy," McGee observed, indicating the picture with his head.

He focussed the camera and snapped a shot. The flash brought on an unexpected reaction.

"Uhhh…" McGee grunted and stumbled backwards, right into Gibbs who swiftly stabilized him by grabbing a firm hold of his left arm which still held the camera.

"Steady, McGee!"

"S..s..sorry, b-bbosss…"

"What's wrong wi' ya?"

"Dunno… Am feeling a little odd…Heat…Head…Dunno…"

Tim grimaced in annoyance at his clumsiness, but then a sharp stab penetrated his brain. It hit him utterly by surprise and he took a faltering step away from Gibbs who'd let go of his elbow.

"B-bboss… Must go." He frantically pushed the camera in Gibbs' outstretched hands and lurched to the door, somehow made it downstairs and out the front door, to the other side of the sedan where he finally sank down in the shade.

His head was pounding. His breathing was erratic and his heart hammering. He leaned against the car and closed his eyes. He saw nothing but stars anyway. When he ran a trembling hand across his clammy face, he couldn't but wonder how many times he had done that already on this day?

When he'd settled down somewhat, he swallowed, got up and opened the car door to get inside.

He found his swoop cap and, leaning back in his seat, covered his eyes with it. It helped…some.

It was hard to believe he was suffering from a heat stroke. What else could it be? This had never happened to him before. What a whacking headache!

_Aaarggghhh_! This was driving him totally and utterly nuts. _Thud-thud-thud_ …Relentless, unabaiting, pulsating, throbbing… All in his head. It felt like it was going to explode any second now.

He felt the nausea coming back and quickly made it out of the car, his swoop cap falling to the ground as he staggered to the bushes on the opposite side of the road where he promptly threw up. Mostly bile, for his stomach held nothing.

"McGee!"

He looked blearily up when he heard his name.

"McGee! Tim! Where are you? Answer me!"

McGee gulped and called out weakly. "Here, boss!"

He got upright and started to walk slowly back to the car, where Gibbs held the door open, ready to lend him a hand if needed.

After he got in, Gibbs gave him one more look while fastening Tim's seatbelt and after having closed the door, he walked around the car to get into the driver's seat for the ride back to DC which couldn't be fast enough.

Ducky was humming to himself when he entered the dark autopsy room after his lunch break.

One can well imagine his shock when, after having switched on the lights, he was greeted by the sight of the prostrate form of Timothy McGee on one of his tables.

McGee's arm shot up and came to rest over his face when the harsh light hit his eyes like pins and needles. He moved his legs till they dangled over the side of the table and sat up with a groan.

"My dear, dear boy! What brings you to my domain?"

"Gibbs told me to…to see you."

"Did he now?" Ducky asked absentmindedly as he went into his office to fetch his medical bag.

" _Yeah, he did indeed, and in no uncertain terms._ " Tim thought morosely, examining the pristine autopsy floor.

"So I waited in here. It's cool, dark, quiet…" He sighed.

He looked up as Ducky suddenly emerged in his peripheral vision – quite close, in fact – and peered into his eyes. The medical examiner took in Tim's general state. Not good.

"What happened to you, Timothy?" The doctor asked while he deftly placed the cuff of the sphygmomanometer on Tim's left arm.

"I don't feel too good, Ducky."

"Mmm…I couldn't fail to come to that same observation, young man." Ducky declared while taking off the cuff. "Your blood pressure is a little elevated. I already noticed your sensitivity to light."

Tim groaned in response and chose to lie down again on the cold table. It didn't go unnoticed by Ducky.

"How long have you been suffering from that headache, Timothy?"

"It came to a full blast when we were interviewing the Darings, the missing girl's parents. Was feeling a little sick already. Hot, squeamish, dizzy… you know. I'm knackered and I can't concentrate. But the debilitating pain in my head…that happened when I started taking pictures. The flash…hit me…wham!" And he demonstrated that last bit by raising his fist and bringing it just short of his pulsating temple.

"So you would safely say your pain is severe. Good, good. Did you suffer from tunnel vision?"

" _No-no-no, not good!_ " Tim thought.

"Yeah. Noticed that little detail when I could no longer read my own notes."

Ducky nodded.

"Say Ducky, can't you just give me something against this infernal pain?" Tim pleaded.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course my dear boy. You just try to take a rest while I get you something."

Ducky returned shortly with a glass of water and a pill.

"Here, Timothy: take this. It will effectively relieve the pain. Meanwhile we can continue our examination."

Tim was asked a myriad of questions to which he only needed to answer by a simple 'yes' or 'no', until Ducky was quite dismayed to hear Tim had nearly starved himself and worn himself to complete exhaustion during that last case.  
Yes, it was common knowledge that Jethro drove the boy hard. Much harder that the rest of the team. The motive behind this was anybody's guess.

"Oh, Timothy! You really should take better care of yourself!"

"Uh?" Green eyes looked questioningly into the doctor's.

"I take it you never suffered from migraine before?"

"What?" Disbelief. "No way: that's for girls…women… I mean, men don't have migraines!" He laughed and winced.

"Wrong, young man. And you would do well to remember this, for it may not be the last time, either, if you don't have a care in the future."

Tim stared at the ceiling at Ducky's stern tone.

At that moment, Gibbs chose to enter the autopsy room to check on his agent.

"Well, Duck? Verdict?"

"I've checked his vital signs and after questioning Timothy, I have come to the following diagnosis: a rather severe form of migraine. Plain and simple! And I advise you to treat your people better than you do." Ducky said crossly, wagging his index finger at Gibbs.

"Hey! I just came down to give him a ride to Silver Spring. I'm giving him the rest of the day off. I've got Ziva and Tony working on all the material we have."

"Rest of the day? Are you serious? Have you perhaps not noticed the hour, Jethro? Rest of the day..."

"I…"

"No, Jethro. You will take Timothy home, alright. But not just yet. For now, he will rest here until he feels he can stand upright without toppling over or soiling my clean floor. Only then - no sooner - will you take him with you. And see to it that he's fed for God's sake! I will give you some Maxalt for him to take before he goes to bed – and tomorrow morning – if needs be."

Tim, embarrassed beyond measure at witnessing the dressing-down Ducky was giving his boss, tried to sit up again. He didn't get very far.

"You, young man, will remain in this horizontal position until I give you leave to get off that table."

"But…" Tim sheepishly started.

"Don't you 'but' me, Timothy. Don't budge and that's final."

Ducky stepped away to return with a blanket for Tim to lie on. It was an improvement to the naked, steel autopsy table. An ice-pack, wrapped in a towel, was then placed on Tim's brow. Tim wondered idly when Ducky would put a thermometer in his mouth and tuck him in - like his mom used to do when he had the measles.

Satisfied, the doctor turned to Jethro: "In my office." Gibbs meekly followed. You just didn't argue with an angry Ducky.

The lights went out as soon as both men entered the medical examiner's sanctum sanctorum and Tim welcomed the darkness. Moreover, he was pleased to notice the drugs were taking effect: the intense pain was now waning to a dull one. The cold-pack was kind of numbing. His nausea had lessened, too.

Well, since he was left all alone now, there was nothing else left to do but try to relax, release all thought, sleep…


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3  
  
Ziva was enjoying the relative calm of a Sunday morning in the squad room. 'Enjoying' may be a somewhat inaccurate description, considering how she was flipping from one screen into another on her computer.  
  
She was thankful for the quiet because she needed to concentrate upon this demanding case.  
  
But for her, the bullpen was deserted. It wasn't even that early. No. True to form, Gibbs had been in before her. About 10 minutes ago, he'd left for the break room for a snack and some coffee.  
  
For all his complaining about the coffee at the office, he didn't bother to sneak out and down to get his favorite brand from Sicard Street.  
  
This time, his mind was uncharacteristically engaged elsewhere.  
  
The ex-Mossad officer cast a glance at Gibbs' empty desk. As a well-trained investigator, Ziva couldn't help but notice something was off.  
  
When he returned to his desk, he didn't say much - not that he ever did anyway - and the only sign he gave in acknowledgment of Ziva's presence, was a diminutive nod in her direction when she looked up at him over the top of her screen.  
  
Yes. Something was definitely bugging him, she observed. His restless behavior was reminiscent of a caged lion, she thought, not without some satisfaction at knowing she got this idiom correct.  
  
He was fidgety and after only a few gulps of his hot coffee, he made up his mind and left again.  
  
Ziva could only guess where to. But what's the use of that? She was curious, but she was also known for her patience. Of course she had an idea.  
  
She looked at the clock on her desktop and a frown formed on her brow. DiNozzo was late...again.  
  
Her eyes shifted from Tony's desk to Tim's equally vacant one.  
  
McGee was late, too! Now that was such a rare occurrence! Very curious indeed. But then, everybody had seen he was unwell yesterday, to such an extent that Gibbs had given him a ride to his apartment and stayed with him until he ascertained himself that his agent was fine enough to be left alone.  
  
Migraine. Ziva gave a little snort and shook her head in disgust. She couldn't remember if she'd ever stayed home for a mere touch of migraine! What a wussie McGee was. At that thought, she grinned maliciously: Tony would find McGee another suitable nickname.  
  
“Gibbs won't like this,“ she thought and shrugged, turning her undivided attention back to the data that filled her screen.  
  
Five minutes later, Tony strutted into the bullpen and commenced the daily task of starting up his computer.  
  
As the monitors displayed the usual succession of start-up screens, his gaze went to his friend's desk and a cocky grin spread across his handsome features.  
  
“McGoo's late! Boss will spank McPumpkinhead!” He chanted like a first grader as he stepped from behind his desk and went over to McGee's, where he proceeded to steal Tim's favorite pens and various other articles he came across when sniffling through his things.  
  
“Mmm...Axe ?” He wondered out loud, turning quizzically to Ziva.  
  
“Yes. He'd forgotten his deo at home and only noticed when he arrived at the hotel. Mexico. Remember? Playing Abby's very personal bodyguard? He bought it at the local shop.”  
  
Tony chuckled. Yeah, and if he knew! Something was definitely not okay when those two got back in from their little fieldtrip to Mexico.  
  
When he straightened again, he felt a familiar slap at the back of his head and he turned around just in time to see an arm retract over the partition wall.  
  
“Grow up, DiNozzo and leave McGee's stuff alone.” Gibbs growled.  
  
Tony had at least the decency to look chastized as he carefully put McGee's things back in their rightful places.  
  
“Mc...”  
  
“...Gee's not coming in for today, DiNozzo, so better get some work done for once. Got that?”  
  
When Tony didn't move fast enough, Gibbs continued: “I need full background checks on the Darings. Phone records, bank cards, credit cards, e-mails... Think you can do that?”  
  
“But, who's going to do the cellular network tracking?” Tony whined.  
  
“How about you, for a change? You do know how a computer works, right? And if you can't handle it, take it down to CCU. Abby's still on Balboa's case.”  
  
Tony couldn't ignore Gibbs' sarcastic tone.  
  
“On it, boss!” And with that, Tony went straight into business mode.  
  
It still took Gibbs by surprise how his Senior Agent managed to switch in a matter of seconds from clown into professional.  
  
Gibbs flipped through the print-outs of Tony's and Ziva's witness statements, before looking up at them.  
  
“That guy, Hugh Pellowe. What've you got on him?”  
  
He shifted his eyes to the plasma in anticipation.  
  
Tony and Ziva both got up and stood beside him.  
  
“Talk to me.”  
  
“O-kayyy. Our trip to the campus yielded this one name that kept popping up in most of the interviews.” Tony brought up the screens showing details on said young man.  
  
“What do we know about him beside the obvious? His day-to-day business, personal activities... What?”  
  
“Hugh Pellowe is a midshipman on board the Centennial. Not much said about him, other that that he's Lorraine Daring's latest boy-friend. Rather run-of-the-mill type of guy. Oh, and he's not best friends with mom and dad Daring.” Tony said.  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
Ding  
  
“Nobody seems to know anything concrete except that the Darings aren't exactly on friendly terms with midshipman Pellowe.” Ziva explained.  
  
“We were just about to run a background check on him.” Tony added, turning his head when he felt a presence close behind his right shoulder.  
  
“McGee!” He exclaimed in surprise, which had the other two turn as well.  
  
“Hey,” Tim whispered with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for interrupting.”  
  
“No, it's okay, McGee.” Ziva hastened to reassure him, her face grave and questioning.  
  
“You still look like crap, McGoo.” Tony half chuckled.  
  
Gibbs just stared McGee down, which made Tim feel rather uncomfortable, on top of everything else. “Just great.” He concentrated on the plasma, trying to ignore their gazes.  
  
Finally Gibbs spoke. “What did I tell you yesterday, McGee?”  
  
McGee felt the heat steadily creep up his neck and all over his face. Still, he focused on the screen. He just didn't quite know what to say.  
  
“Well?” Gibbs pressed on.  
  
There was no way Tim could keep up this game of ignoring his boss and, licking his dry lips and rolling his eyes upwards as he often did when too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, he finally replied in a soft voice that could barely be heard.  
  
“I..I-yuhh...I couldn't stay home, boss.”  
  
Then he looked straight into Gibbs' polar eyes with his own poor puppy dog pleading ones, his brows a near perfect reversed 'V'.  
  
“Look. I couldn't stay home with just this stupid headache.” His voice went up an octave at the last word and his gaze went down to his shoes which seemed, all of a sudden, surprisingly interesting. “Feel so...so...”  
  
“Such a wuss, Probie?” Tony offered with a grin.  
  
“Rock it off, Tony.”  
  
“‘Knock’ it off, Ziva!” Tim and Tony simultaneously corrected her, both men turning to face her and rolling their eyes.  
  
“Thanks, Ziva,” Tim added with a weak smile which turned into a wince which didn't go unnoticed by the others who looked at each other.  
  
Tim cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back: “I'm good, boss.”  
  
“You sure, McGee?”  
  
“Y..Yes.” He was about to nod vigorously but only just refrained from doing so, minding his still painful head.  
  
“Okay then. Hugh Pellowe. Tony, get his CO on the line. McGee, go and check with your buddies at CCU how far they got with the tracing. Ziva, those background checks...” Gibbs continued as if nothing happened.  
  
The team scattered to attend to their tasks.  
  
The call to Pellowe's CO produced nothing out of the ordinary. He was absent with leave. Absent. Where? With whom? For how long? The ship was out at sea, so, for the time being, there were no interviews to be conducted there.  
  
\------------------  
  
Tim heaved a huge sigh of relief to be out of the squad room and on his way down to the basement to supervise. For once, he was glad to have others do the job for him. He couldn't openly admit it, but he was still feeling a little out of sorts.  
  
First things first, though: men's room to splash some cold water over his hot face. He grabbed a paper towel and began drying his face as he peered at his reflection. What he saw was not encouraging as he took in the sunken, dull eyes, the pinched look, hunched shoulders, pale and cracked lips...  
  
He tossed the used towel in the bin in some frustration and rested his hands on the sink, chin on his chest in abject exhaustion.  
  
Gibbs was right. He hadn't said as much, but Tim had seen it in his eyes, his stance. Gibbs knew he was not yet up to par. And nor were the others deceived by his smiling reassurance. God! Who was he fooling anyway?  
  
He groaned and pushed himself backwards off the sink and started walking towards the door and out of the men's room.  
  
A little later, he stepped into the IT room where he was greeted with genuine joy...which turned into looks of horror and dismay as he stumbled, eyes squeezed tightly shut as a sharp pain shot through his head. He braced himself against the wall in an effort to regain his equilibrium, but it was a loosing battle. With a grunt he collapsed, his fall broken by a pair of hands that tried to support his body as he was gently lowered to the floor.  
  
Why was he seeing black spots? Why was all sound muffled? Where did this strange cotton wool sensation come from? Someone called his name and he wanted to reassure them. He was only done in, nothing to worry about, just catch his breath and he would be up in a sec. But there was no sound coming from his lips and he frowned at that...or did he?  
  
He felt numb, like floating on water. He saw more than felt someone loosen his shirt, put something on his arm, touch his brow. Blurred shapes as if underwater. He saw...Ducky? “Hey, Ducky...”  
  
“Tim..th....” When had Ducky started to have trouble pronouncing his name?  
  
He felt so tired and his eyelids felt so heavy. Oh, what a fantastic idea: let's take a nap...


	4. Chapter 4

The first sound that Tim noticed, as awareness returned, was whispering.

He felt both lazy and reluctant to open his eyes, so he just lay still, savoring the moment of peace and relaxation. He took stock of what had happened, how he felt, how he came to be here, in his own bed, when the last recollection he had, was being at NCIS...

Nah, he wouldn't bother. For once, he didn't care. All he knew, was that he was considerably better than he had felt the past week... No, make that ' _weeks_ '. Although, ' _better_ ' was relative. He still felt like he could sleep for weeks. It was just that he was free of those whacking headaches and, as long as he maintained this horizontal position, he was in no immediate danger of feeling too dizzy and nauseous.

He really hated to admit it (and he blushed at the thought) but he didn't mind at all not being on the case, right now. Tim was glad to be off this case and actually rest.

Yesterday was different. Guilt had still tugged at his conscience and he had so wanted to help, to do his job. He couldn't help it. But now? No, it wasn't worth it. He would be absolutely useless anyway, as he found it extremely hard to concentrate.

A small sigh left his lips and he felt himself drift away again.

The whispering stopped...

and resumed.

"He awake, Ducky?"

The ME stood up from the chair and leaned over the recumbent agent.

"Timothy?"

No response. Ducky frowned and lifted one eye-lid and then the other. Oh yes, the lad was pretty much out again. Next, he checked Tim's vitals. He felt too hot for Ducky's liking. So he was still running a low grade fever, but nevertheless, it needed checking. He'd already taken some blood and had sent it to the lab at Bethesda. When it came back, it showed nothing spectacular except that his Hgb was a bit on the low side.  
More alarming were the high tension, and his heart and respiratory functions still left to be desired.

To Ducky, it was more a case of stress, combined with longterm exhaustion, and a minor viral infection. And he could bet on it that Timothy had skipped meals as he was wont to do when overloaded with work. Ziva had even mentioned Tim had spaced out once or twice and how she had been irritated by his incessant bouncing his leg. The young man could be so careless when it concerned his health.

Ducky put his equipment away again and walked out of the bedroom, followed by Gibbs who seemed to be sporting one big questionmark on his face, and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Duck?"

Ducky stepped behind the kitchen counter and prepared himself some tea, while Gibbs took the cups from the cupboard and poured coffee from the perculator in his mug.

The doctor was thoughtful as he replied.

"He's fine, Jethro. Sleeping like a baby, and he still needs it after the rough weeks he's been subjected to." Ducky admonished his friend.

Gibbs sighed and sank down in the desk chair, his gaze travelling over Tim's things that littered the desk, and finally coming to rest on the covered Remington that had been idle for too long. The kid should pick it up again. There was no question about it: McGee, aka Thom E. Gemcity, was a talented author.

He lifted his face and stared out of the window as he thought about the 'why' it was that McGee had abandoned writing. Tsjah, he hadn't really given the young agent much respite to spend some time on his hobbies. There were other things in life besides one's job.

Ducky looked at his friend.

"You really drove him to utter exhaustion. You do realize that, don't you, Jethro? Only...I'm in the dark as to the reason behind your behavior. I honestly don't get it where the lad deserved this."

Gibbs winced and turned away from the window to face his long-time friend.

Ducky's heart mellowed at the sight of his friend's inner turmoil. The guilt lay naked on the other man's face. This time, Gibbs would do nothing to hide it. Here he stood, guilty of taking advantage of a young agent's ridiculous debt to him.

" _You're enjoying having a valet,_ " Abby had told him as Tim – worn to the bone Tim – had left her lab to fetch him coffee. He had asked for some, and his agent had obliged – no questions, no dawdling, just doing what was required...getting his boss his much craved for coffee.

Now, those words, seemingly spoken in jest, came back to mind and they held an accusatory note. One that held too much truth for his own comfort as he was now staying at McGee's place, making sure the young man wouldn't dash to NCIS again in the state he was in. Ducky had given him house arrest and Gibbs would enforce this – make it a another of his rules, if that's what it took to keep his agents in bed when they were as sick as McGee was now.

_A valet, indeed!_

He snorted and took another sip of his coffee. He relished the aroma of fresh coffee, the feel of the hot liquid passing his esophagyus, continuing its way down to his stomach.

Ducky was right – and so was Abby: he  _did_ enjoy having Tim run to his beck and call, like his servant, even if, sometimes, he couldn't shake this picture of McGee acting more like a faithful dog. No, the huge, melancholy eyes weren't helping, either.  
He knew Tim wouldn't dare to complain and would do anything to please his boss. So he'd taken McGee anywhere he went and at any time, be it day-time or night-time.

Everybody knew that McGee could never keep up with his way of living. It was painfully obvious, too, how the young man was withering away.  
Lately, before things had started to run out of hand, Tim was often caught nodding or napping with sheer exhaustion and he, Gibbs, was responsible for this deplorable state.

It was fine for as long as he was still wearing the mitella for his dislocated shoulder. But now? No, there really was no need and he could easily call Tony or Ziva for emergencies. So why was it, that he kept McGee close at hand during investigations or virtually press-ganged him into working late while the others had long left for home?  
Was it really simply because he could get away with it? Because he knew that this man was so inate conscientious about everything he did that questioning his boss's motives would never even enter his mind?

Ducky, seeing how the younger man was lost in thought, had sauntered to the well stocked bookshelves that served as a wall dividing the room into two.

Checking the titles, he found them somewhat lacking in variety: computers, mathematics, philosophy, more computers... Did the boy never relax with a good read?

" _All very interesting and entertaining for a computer geek like young Timothy, maybe, but..._ " Ducky checked in surprise. Oh dear, what was he just thinking?

"Well, well, well! What do we have here...' _Digital Fortress_ ' by Dan Brown. Mmm..." Ducky took the book and read the backcover.

Trust young Timothy to read a novel about...encryption. How fascinating. Nevertheless, why not give it a try. He settled with the book in the armchair by the window.

It was getting dark outside and the streetlights went on. The two men had finished dinner and were in the act of washing the dishes – no point leaving it all for Tim to do - when they were startled from their companionable chatter by the sound of moans which grew in strength to a full-blown scream which ended abruptly. At the same time a thud was heard from the adjacent bedroom.

They rushed from behind the kitchen counter and burst through the bedroom door, letting the light from the livingroom illuminate the scene. Their eyes went first to the bed, and, finding it empty, to the left side where Tim was slowly picking himself up from the floor, a look of confusion on his pale face.

They ran to him and helped him sit down on the bed. Ducky sat beside him, while Gibbs kneeled in front of his man and cupped Tim's face in his hands, closely watching him for signs of distress.

"I...I..kept falling...fell out of my bed. Is all. Nightmare... you know, afraid..." He mumbled, his body still shaking.

"I know, Tim. Heights. You don't like heights."

Tim closed his eyes and carefully shook his head in response.

"How are you feeling, lad?" Ducky asked, as Tim lay back down, pulling the blankets over him and resting his left arm over his forehead.

"Not too bad. Headache's gone. Just tired... Oh, and trying to catch my breath back." He took a couple of deep breaths.

"Look, Timothy. I think you should try and eat something. If you feel up to it, of course. No use forcing it into you if you'll only bring it up again."

Tim opened one eye and then the other, humor finding its way back to them, and he grinned. Actually grinned!

Both Ducky and Gibbs smiled with relief.

Gibbs got up and made for the kitchen to get the ingredients for a light meal.

Ducky rose to his feet, too, and watched his patient run both hands over his face before pushing himself to a sitting position, bare legs over the side of his bed, waiting, no doubt, till the initial wave of dizziness passed before venturing up on his feet.

Eventually, Tim stood next to his bed, still leaning his legs against it till he found his balance, and started to walk towards the door a little unsteadily.

"Woa-how..." He muttered and threw out his arm to the doorjamb. Ducky quickly steadied him, supporting him by his elbow. "Bit wobbly, Duck..."

"Give it time, Timothy, just take it easy. "

McGee smiled and gently extracted his arm from Ducky's grip as he padded slowly towards the kitchen and sat down on a stool in the small space.

The two older men just remained standing, looking down on him as he accepted the offered yoghurt mixed with fruit and took a spoonful of the stuff.

Feeling the eyes of his boss and the ME fixed on him, he gazed up, his face one big question, wondering if he had all of a sudden grown a pair of antennas like some insect.

"What?"

Gibbs stared at him for another 30 seconds, until Tim grew increasingly uncomfortable, and then walked to the door where he turned on his heels to face his agent again.

"McGee?"

Tim swallowed and cleared his throat, for the first time feeling slightly embarrassed as it registered that both men had brought him home, put him to bed and nursed him.

"I'm good, boss."

Gibbs looked beyond Tim, where Ducky stood waiting, and then back at Tim, who rolled his eyes, knowing full well what silent message was passed between the two.

"Really." He insisted with as much aplomb as he could muster.

But Gibbs still stood there like rooted, hand on the doorknob, fixing Tim with that ' _if you dare lie to me_ ' look.

"I promise I will eat, sleep, and stay here until Ducky thinks me well enough to go back to work."

"That means: no playing on that computer of yours, neither. Got that?"

" _Jeez,_ " McGee thought irritably, " _you'd think he's my dad!_ "

"No, sir... I mean, boss." Tim grumbled.

At last convinced that his agent would use the brains he was born with and do as he promised, Gibbs walked out the door, knowing Tim would be in good hands.


End file.
